Luckless
by purushi
Summary: Chance causes Fischer to recognize Ariadne as "the girl from a dream". She finds herself planning with Eames and Arthur on how to dissuade the heir from further interest in her. Our favorite Point Man realizes he isn't doing it just as his job.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Robert Fischer had always considered himself a bit of an idealist, he had never been as hard as his father Maurice or as cutthroat as his Godfather. He grew up in an admittedly sheltered lifestyle, which would be an accurate description to any heir to the Fischer fortune. So when he reached Los Angeles alongside his father's coffin, a sense of catharsis had struck him from his subconscious during the flight, a dream that changed everything. His father had indeed been a hard man, but also a loving one. He had just never seen it until it was too late.

Within a few months Robert had found himself dismantling the tyranny of the Fischer Company's ruthless energy dominance in favor of starting a business of his own. One that would make his father proud. One that would redeem himself for trying so hard to follow his father's footsteps, when all along Maurice had wanted his son to create for himself.

He remembered explaining his resolution to his baffled godfather, the most assertive, and destructive, decision for the company that he had ever made. It had been a realization from a dream, a sign that he had misjudged his father's wishes all along. Browning had found himself distraught that he could do nothing against, what he perceived as, the disillusionment of Maurice's heir.

It was five months after his father's funeral that Robert found himself in Paris, he had been starting some contacts with some growing French energy companies to ally with a company of his own when he had walked past a particular corner bistro in the bustling city. A girl sitting in the café tables outside made him freeze. Curling, chestnut hair framed a delicate young face. She was tugging on a paisley scarf that hung loosely around her neck as she sat perusing a daunting college textbook, her coffee laid forgotten on the table.

A sense of intense déjà vu hit him.

_The violent tendrils of chestnut hair whip around a youthful face, deep concerning brown eyes boring into his greet him after being blindfolded for so long. Skyscrapers crumble around them and he is fixated by the urgency of her gaze._

"_Are you okay?"_

The recollection is wildly vivid, as if something from a dream but so much clearer. He ogles the girl at the bistro and strides forward to sit down at her table. He is aware of how crazy his actions are. How unfounded his logic is. And yet, he is drawn to this girl who so resembles his supposed savior in a half-forgotten dream.

She looks up, her eyes widen in panic. He doesn't mean to alarm her, and he instantly feels guilty. However the familiar rich colors of her dark brown eyes confirm his suspicions. A smile tugs on his lips, and he finds himself feeling like has stumbled upon a part of him that he hadn't realized he had forgotten until now.

"I'm so sorry. I know this must seem so strange to you." He doesn't know what has come over himself, but the familiarity of her face won't let him walk away.

"But I swear I've seen you in my dreams."


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Thank you for the reviews everyone. Honestly I'm terribly out of practice with writing, any critique and comments are loved (just be gentle, I don't write often). I want to crank this work out quickly because once school starts I'm not sure I'll feel as inclined to update. And that wouldn't be fair to those who want to see what happens. I've perused a good chunk of the Inception fanfiction surrounding this couple and have decided to try my own take of it. I spend hours re-writing and re-tweaking what I hope will be an accurate depiction of our much loved duo. I hope I don't disappoint.

Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan.

**Chapter One**

Ariadne had prepared herself for the necessary absence of contact from the team she had grown so close to. It had been three months and she had enough sensibility to carry on with her life. After going through Limbo, after seeing what dream-sharing had done to Cobb, she knew better than to appease the addiction of the dreamscape. Or at least she thought she did.

Sketching on a creasing and worn moleskine notebook didn't compare to seeing ideas bloom before her eyes in the dreamscape.

Professor Miles had noticed the signs in her, the ones that she was yearning to ignore but could not. That she longed for pure creation once again, that reality could no longer suffice as the canvas of her designs. It was with great resignation and guilt that he found himself sympathizing with his student. This sympathy eventually driving him to call her to his office one day to show her the silver briefcase of the PASIV that he kept locked in his cabinet. This PASIV, he explained, being the same machine that he had once taught Cobb and Mal with their first encounter in dream-sharing.

Her eyes widened, breathing hitched as she tried to wrap her brain around what he was offering to her: the chance to create again. She spent the next two months letting her designs run wild with her. Her mazes becoming masterpieces that put the work she did for the Fischer job to shame.

It seemed too good to be true. To have the world of dreams at her disposal once again, to be immersed in pure creation, she had been kidding herself if she had ever believed she could live without it.

The further she immersed herself in the dreamscape, the more she faced the nostalgia of the Fischer job. How she had missed Cobb's purposeful charisma, Eames' snarky commentary, even Yusuf and Saito had become unpredicted familiars during the final stretch of the job.

And Arthur.

He had shown her the ropes, given her the basis of her fantastic creations, his constant patience and guidance becoming irreplaceable to her. She tried her best to stuff away the tiny part of herself that ached for the familiarity of him…_** no **_she corrected, of_ all_ of them.

On a particular evening after returning from a late night spent in Professor Miles' office with the PASIV, she had been on her way to her apartment when she saw the familiar disheveled figure of Eames. He stood at the front of the apartment lobby, looking up from his leaning position against the wall, a smile swathed across his face. He had just been passing through Paris and decided to look her up. She warmed at the gesture, she wouldn't admit to herself that seeing someone from the job eased her suspicions that they had forgotten all about her.

He said that he would be staying until tomorrow and maybe that they could meet up since he was "bloody tired from leaning on the wall waiting for her into the wee hours of the night" and how he had "forgotten the owlish sleeping schedule of university life". She had heartily agreed before they parted ways for the night, secretly bursting with curiosity to ask what everyone had been up to the past months.

She arrived the next day early to their meeting location, a small corner bistro that they had frequented on occasion during the Fischer job. Determined to be productive she hovers above one of her textbooks, as she kills the time. The weight of another body sits in the seat across from her.

'_Eames, early? How much has changed in the past five months?_' she muses, a smile tugging at her lips but falling just as quickly when she looks up.

Her eyes widen, her heart drops.

She had welcomed dream-sharing back into her life. She had welcomed the presence of Eames, a reminder of the people she missed. She had taken them as good omens, but she was in no way prepared to see Robert Fischer sit across from her.

Panic. Dread. Fear. Confusion.

Multiple emotions flit across her mind as her heart quickens in ridiculously loud thumps that seems intent on betraying the calmness she is trying to portray.

He regards her like an old familiar, a surge of warmth and curiosity seeping into his voice.

"_I'm so sorry. I know this must seem so strange to you… But I swear I've seen you in my dreams."_

His eyes are bright and genuinely regarding her, if she isn't already stricken with surprise she certainly is floored now.

'_There's no possible way he could recognize me… Arthur never mentioned the potential of being recognizable to the mark once conscious, right? Then again, I was supposed to never see him again. What the hell is going on?'_

She tries to recover from her shock, and cover her absolute terror. She manages a meek smile and feigns disinterest in the encounter.

'_He doesn't seem to be accusing anything; I should treat him as a stranger.' _

She admirably fakes composure, even though everything in her is screaming for her to run away.

"I-I have no idea who you are… sorry." The stuttered words sound betraying and weak coming from her lips but Fischer seems too enthralled with his apparent recognition of her to be suspicious.

"I'm sorry. I swear I don't do this often… or ever." He appears embarrassed but looks back up to stare at her eyes as if he found confirmation by looking at them. Ariadne is mortified.

He must see traces of the terror stricken upon her face, but he misunderstands it as surprise. He has no idea. Has no idea that she knows so much more than what he knows of himself,

"Let me start over. Could I offer to buy you another cup of coffee?" He gestures to her cold cup on the table.

'_Run. Get the hell out of here, find Eames, warn the others…'_

She doesn't think that she can cover the edge in her voice.

"Sorry, I was just leaving actually…" She gets up in a hurry, the chair scraping gratingly against the floor. He follows suit, intent to stall her from disappearing.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I know I'm a complete stranger, it's just that… that… I swear I've seen you around _somewhere_ before." His voice is urgent and sincere and it only makes Ariadne feel guilt on top of her terror.

"Please, at least let me know your name?" He throws her a charming smile, his form of throwing his last attempt to make her stay. No doubt something he has used multiple times to win a girl's heart over in the past.

"I don't give my names to strangers, even the well-dressed ones." She tries to fake a dismissive glance but that's all the bravery she can conjure at the moment to cover for how shocked she is inside, as she turns away from him intent on getting as far away as possible.

Her luck takes a turn for the worse.

"Ariadne. I know I'm late, but no need to run off-"

Eames' timing couldn't be any worse. Fischer turns around at his voice and Eames realizes the situation in a flash, but he has had more experience with surprises. He recovers the best he can from the momentary surprise, and does what he does best: he improvises.

"And who's this bloke, love?" he glances toward Ariadne in faux-accusatory glare that he hopes she can read the meaning behind.

She does, and tries her best to play along.

"No one. Just some guy." She tries to act standoffish and unimpressed by "the stranger". She strides to Eames' side and they round a corner before Fischer can protest. She doesn't realize that she had been practically running until Eames's hand is on her shoulder and finally stops her a few blocks away from the bistro grabbing her and turning her around.

"What the bloody hell was _that_?"

"You think I know! I was- I didn't-"

They both pause to catch their breaths, the silence seeming to suffice as they both mull over the situation.

Eames lets out a bit of a desperate laugh as he regains some of his composure, pulling out his cell phone. He begins to punch some numbers as he turns to her.

"Seriously darling, all the men in the world and you have to attract the _one_ that you should stay the hell away from." She tries to take his teasing as a sign of comforting her, but she still can't cover her mortification. "Don't worry; it seems that fate is just pulling your leg. He's oblivious and harmless."

"You don't understand." She's visibly frustrated that he is taking this lightly. "He said he recognized me from _**a dream**_**."**

The smile on his face deadpans, the phone at his ear stops ringing and the line is connected.

"Get your ass down to Paris. We've got a bit of a situation." After a brief pause, Eames presses the end call button, shoving his phone in his jacket pocket before continuing to walk her to his hotel.

"Who was that?" She already knew the answer.

"Arthur. Tying up loose ends is his area of expertise." He sees that she is still shook from the situation.

"Don't worry love, the poor bloke looked like he had no idea who you really were. We just have to make sure it stays that way." He flashes what should be a reassuring smile, but Ariadne can see the tenseness behind his eyes.

A few hours later, a knock raps against the door of Eames' hotel suite. Ariadne glances from her seat on the bed as Eames opens it to reveal a familiar figure. He is immaculate as always in a three piece suit and slicked hair, inviting himself in.

"Eames you better have a goddamn good reason for dragging me out here with no explana-"

He stops mid-sentence as he sees Ariadne sitting on the bed. His frustration seems to dissipate immediately, replaced with a flash of curiosity and then seriousness. He is all business.

"What happened?"

"Surely you don't think I'd call you for just a friendly visit." Eames takes advantage of Arthur's momentary confusion.

"Especially, since we already have had the pleasure of one from a rather oblivious _**Robert Fischer**_."

The Point Man's eyes flash from Eames to Ariadne.

"You're serious?" He sits down across from Ariadne. As he pulls off his jacket and rolls his sleeves. Tell-tale signs that his mind is turning as he prepares to work.

"He recognizes who I am, from a dream. He just… doesn't know how. He thinks it's some kind of… fated meeting." She explains, trying to not be upset with just how unlucky the situation was.

'_Honestly, the odds'_

"Sounds like he's a bit old-fashioned, really, I thought fate and destiny was something of a female fancy…" Eames paces back and forth across the hotel room. It's difficult to tell if he is either stressed or amused, as he flips his totem between his fingers.

Arthur looks at Ariadne imploringly, she feels like she can see the concern in his eyes. Immediately she feels guilty.

'_Of course he's concerned. This accidental meeting could put everyone in jeopardy.'_

Her heart squeezes as she thinks of Cobb and his kids.

She recounts her meeting with Fischer to Arthur, it was a relatively brief moment and she can't help but relax as he sees Arthur's features begin to loosen considerably after she explained the conversation.

Arthur exhales slowly.

"Okay. From what it sounds like, he doesn't know anything about you-" Arthur begins to deduce.

"Other than my name." She corrects.

"Other than…You told him?" His head snaps up to look at her.

Eames stops pacing to turn to him. A bit of a sheepish grin crawls onto his face, as if he knew this part of the conversation was to come.

"I did. I didn't recognize him from behind before I called out to her."

Arthur casts a distinctly irritated glare toward the Brit's direction. As if saying that this was then his fault.

"It's just my name. How much can he find out?" she starts to regain hope on the situation. Really, if she thought about it, it wasn't that bad. The encounter was brief, and she had made it clear she wasn't keen on meeting again.

She should have known better.

"If we're lucky, he won't care to dig anything up. But if he wanted to… well. Your name is rather unique." A tight smile pulls the corner of the point man's lips as he tries to cushion his words.

"Eames and I will stick around in Paris the next couple of days. Continue doing whatever you're doing; go to classes, and everything. If he contacts you within the next two weeks, then call. Other than that we might have nothing to worry about."

Worry seems to melt from her slowly. He could have just been having a reverie from the dream, and she had been dismissive enough to indicate she wasn't interested in getting to know him.

_This could all end easily._

"Just know if he approaches you again, you can't turn-tail like we did today. love."

"Why not?" Her recently acquired reassurance wilts a little. She had been banking on being able to do exactly that. Certainly a normal girl can be justified in shirking off a stalker?

"Because, if he took the time to find you it means that he can look up more than just your location the next time." Arthur explains. "Right now we want him to have _less_ incentive on checking your background if anything. It's much more preferable for you to be able to control what he knows rather than him having to dig for it."

Arthur's gaze is business-like, but apologetic.

"When girls play hard to get… makes them all the more desirable." Eames smirks at her suggestively, sparing a wink.

She leaves the hotel after the conversation, Arthur insisting he walk her back to her apartment. Ever chivalrous, she's secretly glad that the months apart haven't changed that.

"So, other than today… how have you been?"

They walk down the wide streets under the lamplight. It seems a bit surreal that after all the confusion of the day that they would come to talk about such mundane things like "How are you?"

A smile tugs on her lips. Is it supposed to feel so easy? To fall back into familiarity with him, like he had never left?

"School's been good, as usual. But I've taken up a rather addictive pass time." Somehow talking with Arthur is instinctual, she wonders how she had not realized what she had been missing.

"Oh?" A momentary confusion flits across his mind as she explains her past months working in the dreamscape.

"I should have known Miles would cave. You've got too much talent in the field to let it be wasted."

She tries not to show her pleasure in his praise.

"Thanks. Cobb was right. I couldn't go back."

The walk to her apartment is much too short. They stand in front of the lobby entrance, Ariadne reeling a bit at the irony of how just last night Eames had greeted her before this entire mess.

"Honestly. Don't worry about it. It may be an ill-fated coincidence."

Ariadne smiles, she had started believing as much herself. Paris was a popular city if there ever was one; she just had been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Yeah. I'm starting to think so too, I'll let you know if anything happens." She begins to tug at the scarf on her neck out of habit.

"I'm sorry Eames called you in a hurry, it doesn't seem that big of a deal after all…" she trails.

He shakes his head, ever professional and patient his face illuminated by the glow of the lobby light streaming from the building.

"No. It's a good thing. It's my job to make sure everything is taken care of." He reiterates purposefully.

"It was just his use of words. I might not be the only one he recognizes from a dream…" Her eyes flit up to Arthur voicing her concerns.

'_He's seen Cobb's face as Mr. Charlie, and Arthur's face as well. Eames had always been impersonating Browning or someone else, so he's safe…unless he can remember faces behind a ski mask… and if he recognized Saito…"_

"Well. Let's just hope he's out of practice and used a terrible pick-up line." He smiles weakly in her direction.

She laughs at the thought. "I'm not exactly his type." She states factually.

"Well, you never know, opposites attract." He shoots her a look, and she can't repress the subtle churning of her nerves. Why was it that she wasn't applying his words to Fischer anymore?

"Well then good night, we'll be around." He nods dismissively, as if to stamp out any further meaning behind the conversation as he turns around to head back to the hotel.

"Thanks, good night." She turns as well, beating herself up a bit for dazing a bit on the spot.

'_I thought I had more sensibility than that.' _She makes her way to her apartment, drops onto her bed without changing as she kicks off her shoes, only making sure that her alarm is indeed on to wake her for class tomorrow. She pulls her totem out of her pocket and places it on her nightstand where she tips it ritually, just to see it fall, as she releases a sigh.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: ** Once again thanks for the reviews. I love hearing feedback, to be perfectly honest I think it might be the only thing that's spurring me to update some times. Especially when I'm particularly stumped with a chapter and don't know where to go. I'm sorry if Chapter One was a bit of a lull, it begins to pick up speed here. And I'm almost done with Chapter Three where things are more in full swing. I won't update it right away though; I'd rather pace my updates out a bit. In this chapter I indulge a bit of Art History geek-ness. Once again, thank you for reading.

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan

**Chapter Two**

The morning had started innocently enough. Sunlight streaked through the bent blinds of her apartment flat. She had awoken an hour before her alarm was set to go off. A bit disoriented as to why she was still in her clothes from yesterday the run-in with Fischer floods back into her mind.

'_I suppose its wishful thinking that it could have been a dream.' _

She sighs as she clambers out of her bed and takes the opportunity to shower before she has to leave for class.

It had been five months since she had seen or heard anything from anyone, and yet all of it had come rushing back to her all at once. It seemed like a sign, like she couldn't engage in the dreamscape without becoming involved with this part of the job as well.

'_Well it's not all bad…'_

She smiles as she recalls being rather relieved to see a familiar someone in a three piece suit. Honestly, he hadn't changed at all. Not that she had been pining for the company of a certain someone who had become a close confidant during the Fischer job; it was more just a bonus.

She had made it to class relatively Fischer-free, keeping her eyes peeled. When she reached the university after no trace of seeing the well-dressed man, she felt a bit foolish for having been paranoid at all.

Her first class was a European Art History course with Professor Miles, it was more of a leisure class she took in order to balance out her more strenuous workload, and European art would always be something of a soft spot. Sliding into her seat in the lecture hall she spares the Professor a knowing smile before he starts the lecture.

As he drones on about the elementary differences of the Ionic, Doric, and Corinthian columns in relation to the friezes and pediments used during their respective architectural popularity, Ariadne's focus wafts toward her plans for the dreamscape.

She had recently discovered the idea of trompe l'oeil using subtle color gradation along with the paradox of the Penrose steps, she could allow for the mark to be manipulated into traveling_ diagonally_ without knowing instead of just straight up and down. It was rather revolutionary in the prospects of a maze, adding an entirely new axis of travel.

Being so submerged in the musings of her recent discovery, she didn't realize that the entire lecture hall had become silent. It took her another moment to derive the source of it.

Well-dressed and sitting in the seat next to her was Robert Fischer.

His blue eyes seem to flash with a bit of smug victory seeing her belated realization, her head swiveled on spot back to her Professor who could only pause for so long before he decided on continuing the lecture despite the guest he hadn't expected. Her fellow students turned inquisitively toward her but soon settled down as the Professor surged onward with his lecture. Ariadne was silently incredibly thankful; she'd rather not stick out if she could help it.

Turning back to her neighbor, her heart resumed the betraying pounding that had possessed it the day before. This time with considerable more reason.

If he had found her here, there was no chance that these encounters would end easily after all. Her stifled dread began to return in mounds.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed. She was far from masking her irritation; unfortunately it only caused him to widen his bewitching smile.

"I wanted a chance to get to know you properly." He whispered back. His voice was so sincere; her heart began to have pangs of guilt. He was so very wrong about her.

"I was rude yesterday, I apologize." He seemed genuinely so, as his eyes regarded her thoughtfully.

Snippets of the conversation she had with Eames and Arthur resurfaced. She couldn't avoid him lest he find out more than he should. He had powerful ties. If Saito could trace Cobb to Mombasa in order to protect his "investment", she shuddered to think what Robert Fischer could do to trace her. He had already, it seemed, access to her class schedule. That was disconcerting enough.

She sighed regretfully, coming to terms that simply ignoring him would not solve her problems.

"I'm not use to strangers sitting down with me spinning cheesy pick-up lines." Her response is only subtle with its scathing intonation.

He looks down embarrassed.

"Again, I apologize."

She looks to the front of the lecture hall, pretending to tune in to Professor Miles' lecture as he ranted about the _Nike of Samothrace_, which he urged they all visit if they hadn't. They were in Paris after all, the Louvre only a small commute away.

After much silence, Robert continued his conversation. This time decidedly more resigned.

"Let me make it up to you. You don't have to come, but I'll be waiting in the Richelieu wing of the Louvre, near the staircase where _that _is at. Saturday, at 3:00." He gestured toward the slide that was being displayed in the lecture. He stood to leave and left the hall without a response, probably knowing enough that he wouldn't get one from her.

Her face puckered. He just happened to pick one of her favorite works. She had spent enough time in Paris to have visited the Louvre on multiple occasions. She knew exactly where he was suggesting they meet, and she was irritated that he knew the specificity of its location.

The end of class could not have come quickly enough, as she packed her notebook with only a handful of scribbled notes from the lecture, she looked up to see her Professor staring poignantly at her. She owed him a bit of an explanation. She waited as the rest of the lecture hall trickled out as she walked down to meet him. His eyes were concerned, a pang of guilt hitting her.

She really didn't want to cause people to worry about things that she brought into their lives. She immediately thought of Cobb.

"Is everything alright Ariadne, I couldn't help notice…" Miles' voice trailed off, not needing to specify.

She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want to get him involved, or more importantly his son-in-law and grandchildren.

She flashes her best smile.

"Don't worry. I'm working on it, I'm sorry class was disrupted." She hopes she doesn't offend her favorite professor as she leaves the lecture hall.

As she leaves, he pulls out his phone from his desk drawer of the podium. Fingers trace a number he hasn't called in a long while, but he would at least feel reassured that Dom's former right hand man was aware of the situation. He silently blamed himself for getting his favorite pupil enveloped in this world.

. . .

Arthur had not planned on returning to Paris any time soon, because he had no _justifiable _reason to.

As soon as the Fischer job had been deemed a success, he did little to revel in the victory, he had simply moved on, or at least went through the motions of doing so.

He was perceptive, systematic, and efficient… and also far from oblivious that underneath it all he was tucking away a part of him he'd rather not deal with right now.

He had been in the extraction business for so long, and had never any problem keeping professional distance from his coworkers. And yet, he couldn't exactly smother away the weeks spent tutoring a rather inquisitive, and brilliant young architect.

Maybe it was akin to how a teacher would be attached to a student; or rather it was just a natural curiosity. She was nothing that he was used to dealing with, and maybe the fact that she was so beyond his expectation is what made him gravitate to wondering how she was coping after it all.

During their time learning paradoxes and closed loops, she had always been inquisitive and fearless. She was bursting with ideas and emotions, and took the initiative and responsibility of acting upon them. From the very first conversation they had, she had awoken from her second shared dreaming chastising _him_ about Cobb's problems, the man who had been his partner for years. And yet, seeing how her interference and drive had probably saved them all during the Fischer job, he was starting to rethink the effectiveness of the way he handled things.

He was in Switzerland when he received the call from Eames. The only reason he had even bothered complying with the Forger's blunt demands because it asked him to go to Paris. He allowed himself to believe that the reason was "justifiable" enough and set off on the very next flight.

As long as he was there, it would only be logical to check on Ariadne as well.

Reasonable.

It was his job to see that all details were taken care of after the job.

He had walked into the hotel suite in Paris fuming a little, having mulled over the fact that he complied with the rather terse demands of his least-favorite Forger. But what little irritation he had was soon swept from him when he saw a familiar figure poised on the bed, her face just as he remembered the only difference being her waving hair having grown a few inches longer trickling down her back. He took time to notice that she also looked particularly pale.

His mind whirred and was back into action, as he was brought up on the details of the situation.

He had tried his best to spin the situation into one that was probably just a coincidence; he needed Ariadne to feel safe and normal. Her anxiousness would be a dead giveaway if she did meet up with Fischer again which, despite what he convinced her of, was very likely.

He offered to walk her back to her apartment, and upon returning to the hotel, continued to discuss into the night with Eames as to what they had in mind for the possibility that Fischer resurface.

Arthur received a call the next morning from Miles, the man concerned with the visitation of a gentleman during his lecture who had sought out his favorite pupil.

A part of the Point Man, which he chose pointedly to ignore, is a bit relieved for having a reason to stay in Paris.

. . .

She shouldn't be surprised that for the third time in the past two days she sees a familiar face in front of her apartment building. Arthur is dressed "casually" a dark blue vest on top of a striped, collared shirt, his sleeves rolled up. He greets her with a small smile, and for not the first time she wonders if Fischer isn't the only one tailing her.

"Miles called me." He explains as she reaches him.

"Seems like this isn't going to go away after all." She grimaces.

She looks up at him ruefully; she wished she could have done something to make it all end.

'_As if he doesn't probably already have other things he needed to tend to.'_

"He wants me to meet him at the Louvre on Saturday. I'm guessing I can't exactly stand him up?" A bit of hope quips into her inquiry.

He shakes his head.

"Unfortunately, I think it's better you meet him rather than wait and find out how far he's willing to go." His face is professional, but an apologetic gleam is in his eyes as he crosses his arms. He doesn't show that his very suggestion, though logical, is far from what he wishes the situation could be.

She nods. She didn't expect anything otherwise.

"So what did you have in mind?" She looks to him. The Point Man, needless to ask, always had a plan.

Arthur turns to walk away from her apartment, she follows, and it seems that they're going to the hotel to discuss further plans, probably to update Eames as well.

"I think Eames had the right idea last night." Arthur continues, being sure to slow down and keep pace with Ariadne's strides.

"About what?" She tries to reign in the urge to tease him for admitting anything of Eames' snarky commentary being justified.

"I think that if you begin to show more interest in him, maybe he will be more inclined to leave you alone." There's a slight tone that betrays somewhat of the professionalism she's used to hearing in his voice.

She doesn't dwell on it, knowing better than to try and dissect his emotions; she seemed already a bit jaded when it came to overanalyzing what Arthur means.

She shakes her head, she's more sensible than that.

'_He is concerned about everyone, not just you…'_

"I'm sorry Arthur, but I'm not exactly good with the whole dating scene to begin with. And frankly, I don't think I can keep my composure around him without giving myself away."

He pauses, turning his head to inspect her, an eyebrow arced.

"Well either he's just dense enough not to take a hint, or your much more of a tease than you're conscious of, he wouldn't have invited you to meet again otherwise." She doesn't miss the amusing tug of his lips that leak across his usually impassive face.

'_Wasn't expecting that.'_

She never thought herself as one to blush, but yet she finds herself tilting her face a little farther from her companion, trying to force a casual inspection of the street they're walking along.

"So why are we going to the hotel?" She tries to re-align the purpose of their conversation.

At this, Arthur straightens a bit and traces of the smile before transforms into a thin line.

"Eames and I have some things we can share that might help you on Saturday." His response is vague, but Ariadne's eyes flit to his profile. She doesn't miss a beat.

"So you're saying that you're going to teach me how to get him un-interested." She translates bluntly. "That's strangely backwards from what I'm used to seeing Eames do." If anything, she always saw Eames as the type to know how to attract the opposite sex. Not repel them.

They reach the front of the hotel lobby, and not long after find themselves in Eames' suite. She takes time to note that Eames had taken the liberty of raiding the mini-bar; small empty bottles sit on top of the counter.

"Hello love" Eames greets from his position in the chair, toasting one of the small wine bottles in her direction.

After filling him in with what transpired in the lecture hall, Eames nods as if he had been expecting the news.

"Well, I stick with what I said last night." The Forger begins. "Unfortunately we men are a bit one-track minded. Once we have ascertained what we have wanted, the victory pales in comparison to the chase."

Arthur glares in his direction, he's leaning with his arms crossed against the full length window that looks out to the view of Paris. He seems inclined to disassociate himself from the generalization, or at least any category that lumps him together with the Forger.

"So I should throw myself at him." Ariadne says sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the idea of her throwing herself at anyone.

"More or less. But we'll try to make sure you throw yourself at him with _dignity._" Eames smiles in conclusion.

"What Eames is trying to get at but failing to do so is…Fischer sees you as his savior from a dream, all we have to do is alter his perception of that." Arthur looks to Eames in irritation, and Ariadne sees the Forger nod knowingly at the Point Man. With a sigh, Arthur unfolds himself from his position at the wall as he walks to the closet to retrieve a familiar silver briefcase.

"What do you have in mind?" Ariadne eyes the case suspiciously.

Arthur pauses from unraveling the tubes of the now opened PASIV.

"The more involved you are in real life with Fischer will only draw attention because of his status, our safest bet is to sway his interest of you subconsciously, where the infatuation originates. We'll have him host a dream and we'll work from inside it." Arthur explains, holding the familiar needle out to Eames, and then to her.

"So we're planting an idea… isn't that a bit drastic?" Her voice is skeptical,

"No, this should be much easier… just swaying his perception of you a bit." Arthur corrects.

She takes the needle and inserts it at her wrist as she makes herself comfortable on the bed.

"You will no longer be the girl of his dreams…" Eames places his needle as he talks.

"-but rather the _woman of his nightmares_."

Arthur pushes the button of the PASIV, and her eyelids droop before she can give Eames' words more thought.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for the reviews once again. Feedback is always much-loved. Things have been building up a bit until this point. There are more doses of A/A action in here. I want to warn you right now, I'm trying to keep them in character while developing their relationship slowly, so if it seems that there are lulls then I'm sorry for those who wanted more development. But it picks up considerable speed here. I envision their relationship more like something that would build momentum after time. I like this chapter the best so far, maybe it's because I had the best time writing it though. I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan.

**Chapter Three**

Tourists and other admirers buzz around the different works of art, their voices echoing off the high-ceiling of the museum.

Ariadne is wearing a little black dress, which she doesn't remember owning, her hair is delicately pulled back, half-up with a barrette. Her eyes scan the statue in front of her: Canova's _Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss_. She admires the two figures entwined with one another in a celestial embrace, framed by Cupid's wings.

A throat clears and her gaze is brought upon her companion. His blue eyes look her up and down with a smile.

"Lovely isn't it?" he inquires.

She contemplates answering and playing along. She decides against it, and she glares poignantly at "Fischer".

"In the actual work, Psyche is much less endowed." Her head gestures to the sculpture, the female's nude figure showing a rather gratuitous amount of chest.

"A man can dream can't he?"

A chuckle ripples through her companion, as Eames breaks his impersonation.

"Accuracy, now that's what we have you for isn't it darling. And you should wear things like this _much_ more often." He refers to her dress with a wink, noticing her chagrin from having no choice in the matter since this was after all _his _dream.

"So what are we doing here?" She turns to look at the parts of her subconscious that have come to mill around the hall.

"Practicing." Eames resumed Fischer's guise once again, his trademark smirk seemingly out of place on the heir's face.

"We're going to have you get close to Fischer subconsciously in the context of a dream. But in order to be convincing you'll need to be able to 'woo' him successfully in reality as well, to enforce the message." Eames-Fischer gestures to the setting of the museum around them.

"And how does getting closer to him subconsciously help him forget about me existing?" Ariadne's gaze is scathing. Impatient with not understanding, and wishing Eames would care to specify what he meant.

The click of determined steps comes to settle next to her side, and she suddenly feels much more exposed in the dress than before, self-conscious. Her shoulders are barely covered, her neck line exposed without her usual scarf. The fabric hugs her petite form and falls just above her knees. Though she is sure Eames could have done much worse, she still feels exposed.

"After you reverse you're current aversion to Fischer and start to get close to him. The plan is to then have Fischer dissuaded to pursue you once he realizes your change of heart is because of you're after something from him. Or at least what we _want_ him to believe you're after." Arthur informs as he arrives next to Ariadne, dressed in what he was wearing in reality; apparently Eames had only treated her to his imagination.

Arthur turns to her, she chances looking into his eyes and regrets doing so as she immediately feels inclined to cover a blush that she swears isn't part of the make-up she has on.

'_Damn dress.'_

"So I get close to him, and then break his impression of me being someone he should be close to… seems… elaborate." She turns her head toward Eames, seeking more information while pointedly trying to avoid eye-contact with Arthur lest she embarrass herself.

"Think about it Ariadne. A powerful and wealthy bloke like Fischer, what do you think he's used to having girls, other than yourself, want from him?" Eames-Fischer asks.

Ariadne purses her lips as the answer clicks: "Money."

Arthur nods.

"We're going to set it up so when you _really _meet him on Saturday, he won't be as inclined to get to know you."

In theory it sounded rather impressive. She could tell after she left the previous evening, Arthur had already worked out a plan. Her heart slumped a bit.

'_Meaning he never believed that it was a one-time thing. He was just trying to comfort me.'_

"Well, if he isn't turned off by the fact you're just in it for the money. We have a more drastic means of breaking his perception of you darling…" Eames-Fischer smiles suggestively at Ariadne, who is only perplexed.

"We'll worry about that part if we get to it." Arthur's voice is clipped, as he cuts the Forger off. A glance is shared between the two of them that is not lost on Ariadne.

Her natural curiosity does not fare well when left out, she begins to open her mouth to protest when Arthur surges forward as if on cue to cut off her inquiry.

"The plan, for now, is for Eames to impersonate you in a dream with Fischer, and do some drastic hinting that you're after his money." As if on cue to Arthur's dictation, Fischer-Eames now morphs into a reflection of Ariadne, who smirks suggestively.

"I don't smile like that. So knock it off." She says bitingly to the Forger, with a chuckle he obliges, and then shrugs.

"Just thought you were more a visual learner…" Eames resorts back to being himself for the moment.

"And then I meet him on Saturday, fulfilling his hunches that I am interested in him superficially…" Ariadne concludes, still visibly perturbed at the idea of Eames impersonating her at all. She shifts the weight of her body uncomfortably.

'_Why is it that we have a knack for destroying any sign of positive relationships in this poor man's life?'_

She doesn't dwell on it. She is sympathetic, but not stupid. This could affect all of them.

"Right then, so shall we practice?" Fischer-Eames is back in place, his blue eyes having a much more devilish sparkle than the real Fischer.

She knows she should practice with Fischer-Eames to be on the safe side, but deep down she knows she can't take him seriously knowing who he is. She's confident that she should be fine, her former lack of response to the heir only because she didn't have a plan. Now that she knew her part, she could play it well.

But most importantly, she doesn't feel like being the subject of Eames' teasing at the moment.

"No, I can handle it." She says dismissively, still vexed.

"Come now, we shouldn't let that pretty dress go to waste" teases Fischer-Eames as he moves purposefully next to her, resting his hands on her waist "would you like to practice kissing?" he whispers suggestively.

She's about to respond scathingly for Eames to knock it off.

A gunshot is heard, reverberating through the hall, the people stop to look at them not noticing the museum crumble around them as the dream decays.

Eames is on the floor, Arthur tucking his gun back into his spot at his back.

"I told him you wouldn't need practice to start with, he's going to be doing most of the work anyway…" irritation leaks into his normally professional speech.

When they wake next to the PASIV, Ariadne can't help but notice that the timer only had 10 seconds left on it, and that Arthur hadn't needed to shoot Eames at all.

. . .

The next day, Ariadne continued with life as normal, for the most part.

Arthur, ever thorough, created the opportunity for them to lightly sedate Fischer in order for Eames to be able to work. Having known that his subconscious was militarized, they planned having Fischer host the dream himself.

Meanwhile, Arthur reviewed with her on how she should prepare for the encounter on Saturday, guiding her through a performance that is meant to confirm the superficial hunches that Eames would be impressing upon Fischer's subconscious vision of her. It shouldn't be much work on her part but she appreciates the practice, even though she had turned down Eames' offer in the dream.

She is fleetingly reminded of the way he had instructed her during the Fischer job, her role as student coming back to her. However, the subject matter is definitely more foreign to her.

"Remember, keep coy and suggestive. Bring up the death of Maurice, and try to pry and find out how much money Fischer is worth now… Basically, try to be elusive about "pretending" to be in it for the money." Arthur reviews.

Ariadne nods her head. They're in Arthur's hotel suite, the day before Eames is due to dream-share with Fischer.

She smiles to herself, and a laugh escapes her. Arthur looks at her inquisitively.

"I'm sorry. But I can't believe you just asked me to be _coy_… I'm not the most seductive person Arthur, be realistic." Her eyes look at him straight in the face, his tutoring momentarily derailed.

"You don't have to be aggressive about your approach with him. It's all about body language." He continues to explain as he walks over from where he was standing near the window and approaches her, she stands up.

She immediately notices that he's positioning his body much closer to her than normal.

"Keep close and in intimate contact as much as possible." She can feel his breath along her neck; she smells his cologne, slightly musky, and incredibly distracting.

"Touch his arm when you want to talk, and lean in to him."

She does as he instructs, pressing her hand gently on his shoulder in an intimate tug before she leans against his ear. She feels really silly, bit more importantly she wonders if he can hear her heartbeats ricochet off her body, because they seem to shudder through her in waves.

"Like this?' Her voice is soft against the shell of his ear. And even though this is practice, there's something so very intentional behind it.

His hand finds its way to the small of her back as he leans into her. For one frightening moment, she thinks he's going to kiss her, but the moment passes and he leans up against her ear in response, their bodies close to touching.

"You were always a quick learner." A smile tinges the warmth in his whisper, and ever professional, he pulls away from her, and the moment is lost.

She's flustered, but doesn't let him see it. She doesn't miss the bit of a smirk on his lips. He returns to his place near the window and picks up where he left off before their little demo, but in perceptibly higher spirits.

"The idea is that the faster you want to tie him down, the more he'll want to run." He continues.

"Be sure to bring up money in every step of your conversations. That, in conjunction with your behavior should make him back off." He turns to her and she is composed once again, only a tinge of pink betraying her.

"Got it, you're right, it's straightforward enough."

The two mull in silence, lost in their respective thoughts.

The silence is broken when Ariadne's laugh escapes from her.

Arthur relaxes at the sound.

"Do I get to hear the joke?" he inquires with a raised brow.

She looks at him with her brown eyes glinting deviously.

"Nothing, I was just imagining Eames trying to 'woo' Fischer." She remarks off handedly, in reference to the role that Eames would be playing soon enough.

Arthur lets a smile leak across his face, a reaction that just seems to happen without his control when he's around her. He had always felt close to Ariadne on a rather unexpected level.

The fact that she also enjoyed imagining Eames in the occasional uncomfortable situation was just a bonus.

. . .

It's Wednesday night when she receives the call that she had been waiting for. Eames and Arthur would have finished with the dream-sharing hopefully influencing Fischer.

She picked up her phone expectantly; she had stayed at her apartment, having no need to take part in this part of the plan, and would rather have not witnessed Eames impersonate her anyway.

"Yes?" She answers a bit breathlessly on the first ring.

"It didn't go well."

She feels her heart plummet into her stomach.

"What happened?"

She can hear Arthur release a sigh from the other end of the phone.

"Fischer's proven he can be quite stubborn. I should have been able to see as much considering how fast he had worked to dismantle his father's work once he had set his mind to it…"

"What are you talking about?"

'_How could it have gone wrong?'_

"Apparently he wasn't so surprised you would be after his money after all. He didn't really see it as a problem…"

Ariadne is at a loss for what to say.

'_How could wanting to be with someone for their money __**not**__ be a problem when it came to a relationship?'_

"It's my fault. I should have seen this coming…" Arthur continues.

"Fischer's mother had left their family at a young age. She had runoff with a wealthier man early on during Maurice's marriage. I'm guessing that Robert has since accepted that was how the way things worked after all. I misjudged the situation."

'_So the guy with more money would get the girl.'_

Ariadne couldn't help but feel like luck was continuing to work against her. She had never been in a position where wealth influenced relationships, but seeing as how Fischer probably grew up in that very environment, it made sense… in a way.

"Well. You and Eames mentioned something about a back-up plan before." She urged, referring to the dream in the Louvre.

She could hear Arthur clear his throat on the other line.

"Yes. Well. That would require certain concessions on your part." his voice is a bit constrained.

They still had three days.

"What did you have in mind?"

A long pause.

All she can hear is static on the phone for a long time.

She's about to ask if Arthur is still on the line when he starts to speak.

"Ariadne…" His voice is tense, but soft. "How opposed are you to the idea of wearing a wedding dress?"


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **I can't explain it. I've decided to update this thing after so long. I want to apologize from my heart to say honestly I do not claim to write fanfiction much at all. Obviously. And furthermore I want to warn you that this thing has no promise for steady updates. But if you'll still join me for the ride, I will promise to write it with integrity for the characters which has always been my main focus. Another admission, the majority of this chapter had been completed right after the last, I had thoroughly abandoned it only to come back.

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan.

**Chapter Four**

"_Ariadne…" His voice is tense, but soft. "How opposed are you to the idea of wearing a wedding dress?"_

It takes a second for Ariadne to realize that her mouth is open, and that she resembles a gaping fish.

She can hear the faint guffawing of the Forger in the background on the other line, Arthur hasn't spoken but a released sigh tells her that he's re-thinking his choice of words.

The ever-logical, methodical Arthur's question has her reeling. She's very tempted to grasp her bronze bishop and tip it to see if she's dreaming.

"Stay at your place, I'll be over to pick you up and we can discuss this over here."

The line clicks dead, and she wants to believe that this is just Eames putting her up for some kind of joke.

. . .

A half an hour later she finds herself in her familiar spot on the bed in Eames' hotel suite.

She had been in the room numerous times in and out without feeling self-conscious and yet suddenly she feels very aware that her faded jeans and scuffed boots stand out against the plush carpet of the five-star hotel. Or perhaps she's suddenly extremely self-aware at how tomboyish her wardrobe is. She doesn't even own a single dress, it doesn't suit her. Certainly on occasion she'll think to try on a dress at a store just to see if her femininity is just late in blossoming but she always ends up shoving it back on the rack feeling foolish. Ariadne, who never wears dresses in a _wedding_ dress? Her visual brain conjures a picture of herself in some kind of tulle powder-puff of a garment and she inwardly groans.

"Ariadne. Do you remember when I first taught you about dream-sharing? How I told you that our minds make certain associations with things that we project in our day to day relationships?" Arthur is poised gently seated in front of her.

She hazards to look up, she doesn't see where this is going but she entertains the conversation anyway.

"You mean when things in your dream reflect how we feel about real life, right?" She confirms.

"Right. So, for example, dreams about your hair and teeth falling out means you're under stress. Dreams about holidays and big dinners are about family matters…"

She nods all of this coming back to her quite clearly, but she still doesn't see the connection Arthur's trying to make.

Her mind makes a leap, and she finds herself whipping her head up so fast to look at Arthur.

"I don't care if it's a dream…I'm. Not. Marrying. Fischer." She seethes.

For a moment she sees Arthur's face do something she's never seen it do before: look absolutely blank and confused.

Eames' guffaw ricochets against her ears and she can tell by the look of amusement on Arthur's face that she's made the wrong conclusion. It's the first time Eames' presence makes itself known, he's been reading a trashy-looking tabloid since she's walked in. She has a hard time recovering over her outburst and makes a point to look at her shoes.

"Don't worry. You're not marrying anyone." Arthur continues.

"Marriages. Well depending on who you are they can symbolize a lot of things in a dream. For a girl who's a hopeless romantic it can represent some kind of ultimate goal. For a man…"

"…it pretty much means their life is over." Eames finishes with relish while slowly flipping through the pages of the articles he's perusing.

Arthur shoots a pointed glare in the Forger's direction.

"It can mean life-long commitment and trust. Two things which Fischer already isn't very inclined to at the moment. We're just going to do a little reminding."

Ariadne sits and digests this new bit of information. It made sense. Fischer's father and mother's marriage turned out to be short-lived and that in itself would give Fischer a negative impression of marital commitment. On top of that, thanks to them, he now subconsciously was mistrusting of a godfather he used to place complete faith in. Freedom is what defined Fischer right now, and commitment, as Eames so delicately put it, already scared off enough men.

She's exasperated and on edge. And she wonders why something as silly as a run-in with a persistent and oblivious man is causing enough trouble as it is.

"Why can't I just meet him politely on Saturday and tell him I can't see him anymore?"

It seemed like the most logical thing to do the entire time. That's how it would normally be handled between strangers. But they're not strangers. She's delved into the very recesses of his mind and apparently left quite the impression. But yet she's still new enough to the world of dreams that she can't help but wonder why this couldn't have ended simply from the start.

Eames coughs loudly before shooting Arthur a rather pointed glare. Ariadne follows his gaze and feels like she sees Arthur lose an inner battle before he turns away.

"This is why it can't be that easy, love." Eames tosses the tabloid he had been reading.

Confused, she picks it up and the headline assaults her eyes with bright red text.

"FORMER FISCHER HEIR SPOTTED WITH MYSTERIOUS LOVE INTEREST?"

Underneath it she can see a rather blurry photograph of her and Fischer at the café; he's facing the camera oblivious while the back of her head is ambiguous but telling enough to be recognized as her.

For not the first time since the week started she feels like the world is very purposefully working against her. Deep down she knew the worst case scenario could mean jeopardizing all of them yet she can't help but be extremely frustrated with something that seems to be terribly at the hands of bad luck.

"The more you meet with him in the surface world, the more attention you'll be getting. And the last thing we need is attention." Eames' gaze is teasing, but also pitying of the young Architect.

"This. Is. _Ridiculous_."

Her eyes squint in intense concentration as if she's hoping the headline and photo will disintegrate if she tries hard enough.

Ariadne sighs. She finds herself asking the same question she's asked for the third time now.

"What's the plan?"

Arthur looks up at her inquisitively. He can tell that she's taking this in stride, but he can't help but find some things increasingly amusing. She can be so fearless with things like inception, Limbo, and shared-dreaming but when it came to being hit-on, dating, and dresses she seemed to unravel at the seams.

Eames answers Ariadne's hanging question during Arthur's musings, mostly because he usually comes up with the ideas. The Point Man, as he liked to think, lacked imagination, and without Cobb – Eames had become more of the artist that came up with the ideas while Arthur critiqued and executed.

"You appear in a dream at what looks like a wedding, and we fill the dream with things that show him he doesn't want this commitment."

Eames leans in toward Ariadne and Arthur, for once seeming to be business-like. "

We can plan on drawing dramatized parallels between Maurice's failed wedding and how this may lead him to be like his father… which ties in nicely, since it reinforces him being a self-made man… my goodness Saito should be paying us more for making the message stick with the work we're doing here."

Ariadne's lips are pursed as she mulls over the entire proposal.

"So why can't Eames impersonate me again?" Her voice is hopeful.

"Unfortunately, Eames has to play another role – Fischer's Mother. She'll be the main convincing force that persuades Fischer to think otherwise of 'commitment', of you."

She lets out a sigh and simply just accepts it.

Beneath the annoyance of dealing with the situation something is eating away inside of her. Guilt. Guilt for having brought others to worry about this situation. Not that she could have handled it on her own very well. Certainly, if she had, by now… well the tabloid picture wouldn't be so 'mysterious', but rather a vivid picture of her telling Fischer off.

"There's another thing." Arthur continues.

'_How can there be another thing'_

"We won't be able to go under until after Saturday. His schedule is too tightly locked. And the Louvre's security is not worth the gamble." He articulates carefully.

She would have to go through with their meeting on Saturday.

She visibly deflates. This was not her expertise. She could build museums, cathedrals, hotels, bridges… but she's used to being the creator, not the actor.

But she has to play this part.

This isn't all about her. This is about all of them, and if she can't do this for herself than she sure has hell can at least do this much for them in return for their efforts. Her mind flits to Arthur. Teacher or not, there's a pang there that feels like she can't disappoint.

_A breath in. A breath out._

She tackles the situation with renewed vigor. Cogs start to work in Ariadne's head.

She can handle this. She can understand why Eames and Arthur can keep their cool so well.

It's just another job.

"I'm going to need to look different on Saturday; I don't want media finding me again." Her voice is informative and business-like. Both men notice the change in disposition.

Eames' smile stretches across her face. "Now you're catching."

. . .

Saturday before she's set to go to the Louvre, it feels a bit surreal. Eames showed up at her apartment holding a bag, promptly shoving her into her bedroom to change.

She's in the bathroom putting on her 'disguise'. The little black dress fits snugly against the curve of her hips; her shoulders bare, the cut flatters her petite frame.

'_I'm going to kill Eames. I'm going to a museum for God's sake, not some bar.'_

Digging into her closet she tries to find something she can dress it down with. She puts on a short blue cardigan that caps her exposed shoulders, balancing out the tightness of the black dress, and deems it sufficient. The final accessories she thankfully owns, as she dons some black heels she hasn't worn in ages, but having survived valiantly despite being shoved into the bottom of her closet.

Grabbing her usually loose curly tresses, she twists her hair up in a rather messy but elegant way leaving some hair to frame her face.

She momentarily is thrown off by what she sees in her reflection.

She can't find the words to really describe it. Maybe it's attractive, or maybe she's a bit thrown off forgetting what she looks like with make-up on.

On an after-thought she adds the black rimmed glasses that Eames also stashed in the bag. With the glasses on she feels like a rather coquettish librarian in some romance novel.

Sighing she relinquishes herself from the bedroom and steps out to face Eames' appraisal.

He turns to look at her and wolf-whistles.

"Even with you covering yourself up my dear. You look lovely." He smiles.

"I feel like a Librarian…" she mutters as she gestures to the glasses that feel foreign on her face, taking them off for now and putting them besides the table.

"Well then my dear, you can check me out _any time_."

"Eames, that doesn't even make sense. And why do you keep putting me in black dresses?"

She gestures to the dress, not wanting to know how he knows her size

"My dear, yours is a_ classic_ beauty, black is a_ classic_ look. Besides, Arthur fancies black on a lady."

Before she can bite back and fight the tinge of red on her cheeks, there's a knock on the door.

"Well I've done my part then, time to switch off." Eames makes for the door, not pausing to acknowledge Arthur before dashing off in an escape.

She has half the mind to chase him, and probably would have if she weren't frightened she'd fall flat on her face wearing her heels.

Arthur's head is over his shoulder looking after Eames as he walks into her apartment, by the time he turns around his steps stop mid-stride.

She clears her throat in slight discomfort.

"Well?"

"Well. If we're trying so hard to make him want to forget about you, I feel like this is counterproductive." He responds smoothly.

She tries not to redden from the implication, and ignore the fact that indeed there was a compliment in there.

"Do you want to review what to do?" Arthur asks, in Point Man fashion, seamlessly recovering from his lapse before.

She nods. Since the 'I'm after your money' approach had failed, she would just be playing interested and keeping it light. There wasn't really a plan, there were just guidelines.

"Don't talk about personal things; steer clear of anything to do with the inception."

"I know. So basically I just keep quiet but otherwise act normal."

"Pretty much."

"Somehow, that seams scarier than the plan of me being superficial and money-seeking."

Since she had a bit of free reign, she already had some rather choice words for Fischer. She had to be normal, but doesn't mean she had to be_ nice_.

"We'll be close-by, and we'll talk about it afterwards."

Arthur strides over to her, picking up the glasses from the table. Ariadne is suddenly aware of how close their bodies are his breath brushes against her neck as he takes care to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as he places the glasses on her face. She can feel the warmth of his palm on her cheek, brushing it delicately.

Arthur steps back to look at the affect. Silence.

"A lot of men find glasses a turn on." he smirks.

She doesn't know quite what to say after that. But she certainly stifles the urge to ask if he's a part of that denomination.

. . .

The Louvre is bustling with both tourists and regulars alike, the voices and footsteps ricocheting off of the high-ceilings. The echoes reverberate across the silence that is punctured by the occasional overheard conversation. Ariadne finds herself looking up at the _Nike of Samothrace, _with a sense of fondness. The marble, winged figure is draped and majestic, and momentarily she lets herself be immersed in examining it. She feels a small pressure on her back.

"You look lovely."

Blue eyes lock onto hers, and she is suddenly extremely thankful that she can hind behind her fake glasses. It's like she can be someone else completely, and she relaxes.

Fischer smiles at her warmly.

"Nice glasses."

She scoffs, immediately remembering a part of the conversation that she wanted to bring up with him. Reaching into her purse she retrieves a small tabloid clipping and shoves it to him unceremoniously.

"I didn't really have a choice."

Fischer scans the headline and scowls; he looks up apologetically but unsurprised.

"I'm sorry… but then again most ladies I take interest are rather fond of the attention."

Ariadne doesn't try to stifle a gag that betrays her annoyance. Honestly, he thought he was the center of the world. He looks at her naively, and she can only attribute his oblivion to being completely sheltered his entire life.

"Then most of the girls you date aren't very classy." She quips.

An eyebrow arcs over his blue eyes in surprise. Apparently he wasn't used to being reprimanded either.

They continue their perusal of the Richelieu wing, Ariadne stopping every now and then to look, Fischer listening to her as she explains the significance. She's here and might as well enjoy herself, but she can't help but feel that Fischer seems to be enjoying himself a bit more. She doesn't see his occasional lingered gaze on her profile as she studies a work, or the way that every time she replies bitingly or reprimands him that he is only more intrigued.

They are standing in front of Fragonard's _The Swing_. She watches the overzealous woman in the picture losing a shoe mid-swing. It's only after the eventual aching of her ankles does she realize they have spent the last three hours together.

She turns to face her companion, who she realizes with dismay, wasn't really paying much attention to the painting at all.

For being perceptive enough to recreate dreamscapes and fabricate mazes, her mind stumbles to a blank at the male mind.

The last three hours she has been tart if not scathing, floating from piece to piece in the museum and prattling on endlessly about art history and yet she is forced to realize the inevitable conclusion that Robert Fischer seems more intrigued and encouraged than ever. If not moreso.

It takes her another moment to realize that the set of blue eyes are getting closer and soon she can feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

Rather stupefied, she also realizes that the gap between them is only growing smaller.

…

Arthur didn't quite know why he found himself halfway toward the couple when he should have been next to Eames. Who, very clearly, was not suffering from the same urge to intervene as Fischer leaned in closer to Ariadne. To a relief he refused to acknowledge, she looked extremely uncomfortable.

As a Point Man he learned to find the obvious and the not so obvious.

And as he approached their mark to disrupt a plan that was, for all intents and purposes, not at stake he was forced to face a rather obvious fact with himself in regards to his current Architect.

It was mid-stride when he saw Ariadne recoil abruptly from Fischer. Her jarring movement made the Point Man freeze, come to his senses and watched amusedly.

Well if he was going to have to face the obvious fact that his professionalism was being compromised for feelings he had for someone, he certainly knew how to pick them.

…

Her eyes dart back and forth trying to look anywhere except at the body enclosing on her. The lady in _The Swing_ stairs back at her, flying shoe and all as Ariadne rests her eyes on the painting. With a sudden inspiration, she reels back away from Fischer.

The quick movement throwing him off, and his eyebrows knit in confusion as he watches the girl before him reach for her heel.

"These shoes are killing me." Ariadne rips her heels off unceremoniously, taking full time to revel in the momentary gaping fish-face that her former Mark is making. Other patrons of the Louvre also stop to gawk at her rather uncouth behavior in the establishment.

She shoves the shoes into Fischer's arms, who almost drops them like he's never been asked to hold something in his life, which very might have been the case.

With a twirl of chestnut hair she forges on away from the picture, her stockinged feet engaging in soothing relief against the marble floor. The lack of footsteps behind her is a reward as she stalks past a nearby security guard and curator who take only a moment to gawk before politely stopping her.

"Miss, I'm afraid, at the Louvre we have a policy where…" the matronly looking curator stumbles on her choice of words.

"- Well we wear shoes." She looks at Ariadne imploringly as if the lilt of her words questions her sanity.

The sound of one of her heels clatters to the floor behind her.

Ariadne celebrates a small victory, imagining the gaping Fischer not ten feet away from her and the curator.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She gasps dramatically with a hand to her mouth. "You see I do this at home all the time… and I thought."

And the clatter of her other heel hits the floor.

...

She is kindly being escorted down the stairs of the wing where she entered next to the _Nike of Samothrace_, a rather amused security officer trudging alongside her. Ariadne knows she could have handled the situation with better tact. But she was sensible enough to realize when she was good at things. And clearly dating, men, and love wasn't one of them. If acting irritable and unpleasant didn't scare off men nowadays she certainly hoped being crazy would.

She was wrong.

"Ariadne!" Fischer's voice booms after her. She turns to look up at his form at the top of the staircase. His hair is in a bit of disarray and he breathes heavily from having to chase her after his momentary stupor.

He recomposes himself and just in time she sees him toss one of her black heels toward her. She catches it smoothly and waits expectantly for its partner.

"I'm holding on to this one if you don't mind."

Her eyes flash at him quizzically and accusingly at the same time.

"It might come in handy the next time I lose track of you."

…

Sitting in Eames' suite Ariadne lies mortified on a chair, as she listens to the guffaw of the British forger who has upon her return accused her of being too good at everything, even when she apparently was trying to do the opposite.

"I don't know what happened," she recounts a bit irritably, still holding her partner-less shoe in her hands.

Arthur stands against the window next to her arms crossed, and not hiding a pleasantly amused expression as well. The laughter subsides from across the suite and Eames composes himself with a long sigh.

"Oh, my dear, I think you're too charming for your own damn good."

" Ch- _**wait **_– charming?" pent up anger bubbles into her stuttering dialog as she reels forward in her chair, clearly releasing some of the frustration from the day.

"I was acting irritable and mean all day, and when he tried to kiss me I… well, I threw my shoes at him. I guess _**crazy**_ is the new charming, which I suppose we should just start telling _every_ girl to start acting if they want to get with a guy." She slouches, defeated after her tirade, but having enough energy to throw her black pump at the Brit's face.

The forger catches it in his hand swiftly.

"Well, Cinderella, it seems you've finally caught on. For God's sake most women are."

Ariadne's mood, to no surprise, does not improve.

It's the swift movement of Arthur that catches her attention as he repositions himself from his place at the window to in front of her.

"Well, regardless of the…entertainment… of the day, we still have our job to do."

Arthur bends onto one knee in front of her, and Ariadne's eyebrows knit in confusion.

"I arranged an appointment at a bridal store, we'll be checking out the interior of the place so you can get a good idea when you create the dream."

And as if she couldn't take enough crazy for one day, she watches as the ever purposeful Point man takes her left hand and slides a ring on her finger.


End file.
